


A Debt of Honor

by orphan_account



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Regency, F/M, Georgette Heyer AU, Just gentlemen and ladies, M/M, Marriage of Convenience, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, They're not Kingsman in this AU, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-04
Updated: 2015-09-02
Packaged: 2018-03-29 01:41:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3877522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sir Henry Hart feels the best way to repay his long-owed debt to the late Lee Unwin is to marry his daughter and give her the best life possible. However, unbeknownst to him, Miss Violet Unwin has already given her heart away. </p><p>Gary "Eggsy" Unwin isn't about to let his sister marry someone she doesn't love. He has a plan. Now, if only Sir Henry agrees to it.</p><p>Inspired by the Georgette Heyer novel "The Convenient Marriage."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> I've been reading a lot of Georgette Heyer lately. Then this happened.
> 
> My first fanfic in a few years! Not Brit-picked, and most of what I know about Regency is from novels, so if there are any major gaffes, let me know.

Sir Henry Hart, fantastically rich and, with his tall strong figure and thick dark hair, still fairly handsome for his fifty years, was peacefully enjoying his breakfast when a servant entered the breakfast room to inform him that Sir Chester King had come to call on him. Sighing, Sir Henry took a last sip of his tea before setting aside the linen napkin and nodding to the servant to let Sir Chester in.

Sir Chester King was one of Sir Henry’s closest friends, and although Sir Henry greatly appreciated the friendship, he sometimes wearied of the fact that the man often acted as though his surname was a title rather than simply a name. Calling on Sir Henry before breakfast was over was really a minor offense in their long history together and Sir Henry resolved to only mildly mention the behavior rather than reproach the man for it.

 “Really, Sir Chester,” said Sir Henry as the older man came into the breakfast room. “Bit early for a social call, is it not? Particularly since I distinctly remember you telling me you never leave your home before ten o’clock in the morning unless the matter concerns an earl or some higher rank, and I am certainly no earl.”

“I do apologize, my dear Hart,” said Sir Chester. “But I have a matter of great importance I would speak with you about, and I am afraid that as I am quite busy today, I had to come to you first. I knew you would already be up and about, and would not mind my calling so early.” He glanced longingly towards the small teapot sitting on the table.

“Would you like some tea as we discuss this great matter?” asked Sir Henry, gesturing to the servant to bring another teacup.

“Thank you, Hart,” said Sir Chester gratefully, as he lowered himself into a damask chair, adjusting the lacy cuffs that peeked out from his aubergine velvet coat.

Once the cup had been brought and the tea served, Sir Henry settled back into his chair, crossing one long leg over the other. “Now, Sir Chester,” he said, raising an inquisitive eyebrow and linking his hands together over his pale blue silk waistcoat, “why don’t you tell me what brought you here so urgently this morning.”

Sir Chester reached up and absently patted his snowy hair before he took a deep breath, as though to give himself courage. “I have heard rumors,” he said slowly, “that you intend to pay suit to the Unwins. I cannot believe that you would decide to marry after so many years as a bachelor and I immediately decided to come and hear from you the veracity of the talk.”

Sir Henry’s brows shot up in surprise. “I have, in fact, thought about it,” he replied. “Though I had not discussed it with anyone. How did you come to hear of it?”

Sir Chester waved an impatient hand. “It matters not,” he dismissed. “I cannot believe it is true. Why would you do such a thing? If you are looking to marry, my dear Hart, you have no shortage of suitable ladies and gentlemen to choose from. The Unwin name has a respectable history, I grant you, even if they are not nobility, but when the late Mr George Unwin ran off and married that shopgirl, that particular branch of the family certainly went down in the world. Why on earth would you consider linking your name with theirs?”

Sir Henry sighed. “If you recall, Sir Chester,” he said, “George Unwin's son, Mr Lee Unwin, died saving my life during our time together in the Army. If it hadn’t been for him, I’d be the one who is dead and his wife and children would not have been left destitute.”

“Of course, it is perfectly understandable that you would want to do _something_ for them,” said Sir Chester soothingly. “But why after all this time? And why _marriage?_ Why do you not simply offer them money? Or a dowry for when they do marry?”

“I offered them both of those shortly after Unwin’s death,” replied Sir Henry. “However, the young Mrs Unwin was a proud lady and would no more take money from me than she would go begging from her husband’s disapproving relations.” Before Sir Chester could interject again, the younger man held up a hand. “My dear Sir Chester, I know you mean well, but I am determined. The Unwins have a daughter who is now of marriageable age, quite accomplished from what I hear, and I intend to offer for her. Perhaps Miss Unwin will be more open to my help now than her mother was seventeen years ago.”

“But,” sputtered Sir Chester, “they are so _common!_ I have heard that Mrs Unwin, taking after her mother-in-law, no doubt, works as a shop maid! And her second husband is a _complete_ boor! _And_ her _son_ ,” he continued with relish, “after having enlisted in the army, _left_ before the training was even over!” He glowered at Sir Henry, as though Hart himself were responsible for young Mr Unwin’s behaviour. “That’s the mark of a reprobate, I tell you,” he finished darkly. “Up and _leaving_ the military, which is an honored profession, particularly for a commoner! Shows a lack of courage, in my mind.”

“Or perhaps,” replied Sir Henry mildly, “young Mr Unwin is just a man who does not wish to leave his mother and sister alone to go off to India or America, or somewhere else just as far off.”

“Miss Unwin, is, I grant you, accomplished enough, but do you really want to be linked to such a family, Hart?”

Sir Henry’s lips curved in amusement. “Really, my dear Sir Chester,” he said warmly, “I do not think marrying a respectable young lady from a respectable, though sadly impoverished, family will cause any damage to my own name. And besides,” he continued glibly, “You and I both know for a fact that anyone can make society think they’re acceptably respectable if they have enough money. And that, as you well know, I have in spades.”

Before Sir Chester could reply to that, Sir Henry rose from his chair. “Now, I thank you for your concern,” he said, holding out a hand as Sir Chester stood and set aside his teacup. “But my debt to Lee Unwin has been hanging over my head like Damocles’ Sword for the last seventeen years and I am determined to pay that debt.” He thought of a medallion, a date engraved on the back, resting in the small hand of a young boy who gazed up at him with large blue eyes, and of the promised favor that he'd offered with the charm. “Perhaps being a doting husband to his daughter is an unconventional way to repay him, but I will do what I can.” With that, he shook Sir Chester’s hand firmly before nodding and sweeping from the room, shoulders straight and hands clasped behind him.  Deciding there was no time like the present, he called for his carriage, musing that today seemed to be a day fit for early morning calls. He hoped the Unwins would not reproach him for it.

 

* * *

 

Mr Gary Unwin, known as “Eggsy” to his friends and family, was a young man of five-and-twenty, handsome and charming, with a winning smile that had won many hearts among the young ladies and men of his acquaintance despite his lack of fortune.  When asked (often with bated breath, if truth be told) if he planned on wooing anyone, Eggsy would merely laugh and say, “I’ve already got three lovely ladies in me life! What do I need to go finding another one for?” before turning and swooping his baby half-sister Daisy into his arms, and kissing his mother and other sister on their rosy cheeks.

Eggsy’s mother had remarried shortly after the death of his father, but due to necessity, not love. As a widow with two small children, Mrs Michelle Unwin had very little income, as the pension she got from the Army was certainly not enough to support the family, and neither her family nor her late husband’s had anything they were willing to spare. She had sold everything they owned, except a small charm, given to Eggsy by the gentleman who’d told them that her husband had saved his life, which the boy had stubbornly refused to part with and, to this day, wore under his clothes on a chain around his neck.

After her husband's untimely death, Mrs Unwin had gone to work as a shop assistant, where she’d met Dean Baker, a rough bear of a man, completely unlike her brave and gentle husband. Mr Baker, after a short courtship, had proposed, promising stoutly to treat her children “as if they were me own kin.” Little did Mrs Unwin know that Dean Baker did not treat his own kin very well, and only after she’d already become Mrs Baker did she realize that she’d leapt out of the frying pan and into the fire.

A little over two years ago, she’d given birth to a baby girl and called her Daisy, and the entire family doted on the child, even Dean, in his own way.

Violet Unwin, Eggsy’s other sister, was just turned eighteen, and had been only a baby when her father had died. She was quiet and dark-haired and beautiful, and she shared her brother’s charming smile and twinkling blue eyes. As a boy, Eggsy had worked shining shoes along the streets to earn money so Violet could go to school.  Late at night, Violet and Eggsy would huddle under blankets as Violet taught Eggsy everything she’d learned by the dim light of the kitchen fire. In this manner, and aided by his own keen and intelligent mind, Eggsy learned all that he had missed after having to quit school after his mother’s marriage to Dean Baker.

When Violet was thirteen, a distant Unwin relation, an elderly widowed cousin of some sort, had offered to pay for her to be sent away to school in exchange for Violet staying with her in Hertfordshire during her school holidays. Violet had no wish to go and learn all the accomplishments, particularly if it meant leaving her dear mother and brother behind. But Eggsy urged her to go, if only to get her away from Dean and his brutish friends. Violet tearfully agreed, and for four years, Eggsy’s only communication with his beloved sister had been through her letters.

Shortly after Violet’s seventeenth birthday, her benefactress had died. Although she’d left Violet a small sum of money in her will as a dowry, it still left Violet with no other option than to return to her family’s home. Although Violet was eager to see her mother and brother again, and to meet her new baby half-sister, she was devastated to leave Hertfordshire, where, she’d confided to Eggsy in one of her letters, she’d fallen in love with the vicar’s son, David Philips, who was, according to Violet, all things handsome and kind, and had plans to take over the vicarage from his ailing father after their marriage. They had been waiting for Violet to turn eighteen before marrying, and, when they had realized Violet would have to return to London, both had eagerly promised to continue their courtship via correspondence until that time.

“You’re brilliant at letter writing,” Eggsy had assured his sister, patting her hand.  “You wrote me all those years you were gone learning to be a lady. And since you’re in love with him, and because he’s not an idiot, he’s in love with you back, that’s even more reason for you to be doing all that writing.”

Once Violet’s eighteenth birthday had passed, she had eagerly waited for a letter from her beloved telling her he was ready for her to return to Hertfordshire and be his wife. The highly anticipated letter had arrived just yesterday, and Violet had been ecstatic that the Reverend Philips still approved of the match. Mr Philips was to come to London next month to make the arrangements, and Violet could not wait to marry him.

This particular morning, Eggsy, Violet, and their mother sat in their small sitting room, enjoying the rare peace, since Dean had left the house early that morning headed to the pub. Daisy, who would normally have been running around the house like a wild creature, slumbered in a cot in the corner of the room.

Violet was embroidering flowers on a tablecloth and her mother sat on the sofa next to her, making appreciative noises over her daughter’s skill. Eggsy was slumped in a chair near the fireplace, reading a novel and lazily dragging the medallion around his neck back and forth on its chain.

“Really, Eggsy,” said Violet, mildly disapproving. “A novel?”

“Why not?” Eggsy asked. “It’s better than all that stuff David keeps telling you I should read. If I’d wanted to read about the Bible all day long, I’d’ve been a parson.”

Before Violet could respond, there was a knock at the door. “Who could that be?” Eggsy’s mother wondered. “None of Dean’s men are supposed to come ‘round this morning.” She turned to Eggsy. “You ain’t got no one coming this morning, do you?”

Eggsy shook his head. “They wouldn’t be out of the house til near noon, anyway,” he replied, grinning. “It’s too early in the morning for it to be any of them.”

“Why don’t you go find out who it _is,_ rather than decide who it _isn’t,”_ said Violet primly, raising an eyebrow at her brother. He grinned back, shutting his novel and tossing it down on the table, tucking the chain beneath his shirt as he stood.

“If you knocking woke the baby, you’ll be sorry,” Eggsy called as he opened the door. His jaw dropped as his eyes rested on a dark blue coat he’d wager was worth more than his monthly salary. His gaze slowly traveled up until he met the dark eyes of the fine gentleman standing at the door.

“I do apologize for calling so early,” said the gentleman contritely, removing his hat. “Is Mrs Baker at home?”

Eggsy gaped, speechless, even as a small part of him wondered why the gentleman looked familiar.

The gentleman looked slightly put out at being left standing on the doorstep. “Might I come in?” he asked.

“Oh!” Eggsy exclaimed. “Right! Sorry about that. Come on in,” he gestured, taking the gentleman’s hat and gloves as they were handed to him. “Mum’s through there,” he instructed, pointing towards the sitting room.

The gentleman looked at him more closely, but didn’t say anything before turning and entering the sitting room.

Mrs Baker shot to her feet as soon as she saw him. “Sir Henry!” she exclaimed in a puzzled tone, reaching up to smooth her hair.  "What are you doing here?"

“I apologize for the intrusion, Mrs Baker,” said the gentleman—Sir Henry, apparently. “I have a matter I wished to discuss with you, and the sooner I get it settled, the sooner I can plan accordingly.”

Mrs Baker’s brow furrowed. “Alright,” she said slowly, before turning to Violet, who'd also stood when Sir Henry entered the room. “This is my daughter, Violet Unwin,” she said, gesturing to Violet, who curtseyed. “And y’met Egg-I mean, Gary, at the door.”

“A pleasure,” Sir Henry said, bowing slightly over Violet’s hand and nodding to Eggsy. “Might we speak in private, Mrs Baker?”

The lady hesitated, then nodded. Eggsy and Violet glanced at each other, then Violet walked toward the entryway. Eggsy turned to go, then paused and looked up at Sir Henry. “You don’t be upsetting her, you get me?” he said in a low voice. “I don’t care how posh you are.”

“That is not at all my intention, I assure you,” murmured Sir Henry, acknowledging Eggsy’s words with a small nod. Eggsy stared at him for a minute and Sir Henry met his gaze evenly. Finally, Eggsy returned the nod and left the room, following his sister to the kitchen.

“What do you think they’re talking about?” Eggsy wondered as he prepared a slice of toast.

Violet shrugged. “He’s the man Father died saving?” she asked. At Eggsy’s nod, she said, “Perhaps he still feels he owes us something.”

As he took a bite of his toast, Eggsy reached beneath his clothing and pulled out the chain. “He already gave us a favor,” he said, dangling the medallion and swinging it slightly. “I still think we shoulda called it in so you could go to your school without grouchy Cousin Matilda hogging you all to herself for four years.”

“Ah, but without Cousin Matilda, I wouldn’t have met David,” Violet countered, her blue eyes softening into the same dreamy expression she always wore when talking about her intended.

Before Eggsy could reply, the kitchen door burst open and Dean stormed in. Eggsy hastily stuffed the medallion back under his shirt as Dean strode towards him. “What the hell are you doin' here?” Dean exclaimed, gripping the back of Eggsy’s neck with one beefy hand. “You was supposed to be out finding more work, you lazy little shit.”

“Ain't nothing open yet that's hiring," Eggsy protested, squirming a bit. "Was gonna go down to the shops around ten or so."

Dean glowered at him and removed his hand from Eggsy’s neck only to grip his ear. “I don’t like the mouth on you, boy,” he growled, twisting Eggsy’s ear, and Eggsy bit his lip to avoid crying out. “You should be respecting of your betters.” With a final twist, he released Eggsy’s ear and turned to Violet.  “Where’s your mum?”

“In the sitting room,” Violet replied softly. “A gentleman came to talk to her. A Sir Henry.”

“Who?” demanded Dean. “Well, ain’t no man gonna talk to my wife without _me;_ I don’t care if he’s the fuckin’ king of bloody England.” With that, he strode to the sitting room and threw open the door.

Eggsy and Violet followed him and spent the next ten minutes hovering outside the sitting room in a tense silence, straining to hear the voices coming from the other room. They could not make out any words, but they could hear Dean’s rough growl and Sir Henry’s smooth voice doing most of the talking, with an occasional interjection from their mother.

Finally, the door opened. Dean looked extremely pleased, their mother looked resigned, and Sir Henry looked like he was satisfied that he’d achieved what he came for but unsure as to whether or not he should be happy about it.

“Girl,” Dean called to Violet, coming over to her and grabbing her wrist tightly, hauling her into the sitting room. “Today’s your lucky day. Sir Henry has offered for you and we’ve accepted. You’re gonna be Lady Hart.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's a bit of a stretch that Rich and Important Sir Henry would marry into the Unwins, but LIFE DEBTS AND HONOR, etc, okay?
> 
> This takes place in a universe where same-sex marriage is perfectly acceptable. In this universe, your average person can marry for love, regardless of the sex of the person they love. However, if a person has to worry about providing an heir, they will be expected to marry someone of the opposite sex. (This is why Sir Henry decides to offer for Violet, rather than Eggsy, the oldest child, as would be the usual route in a case like this. Although Sir Henry has family who can inherit his fortune, it’s expected that if he’s going to leave his bachelorhood behind, he’s doing it for the heirs)
> 
> I also just got a tumblr, if you're interested. I mostly reblog Kingsman stuff from other people, though I occasionally post headcanons and will probably post ficlets and such there eventually as well. It's [apugnamedjb.tumblr.com](http://apugnamedjb.tumblr.com)


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eggsy comforts his sister and comes up with a plan. Sir Henry tells two friends of his engagement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not 100% pleased with this chapter at the moment, but I may as well post it now or else I'll keep picking at it for another week.
> 
> Thank you for all the comments/kudos/subscriptions! :)

 

Once the door had closed on Sir Henry’s departure, Violet gave a choked sob and dashed away down the hall.

“You ungrateful little brat!” Dean bellowed down the hall after her. “You won’t never get a better offer than that! You think that pious bastard in the country could give us what we need like that man what just asked to marry you even though you ain’t got nothing but that bit from that dead cousin?” He stabbed a finger toward the door. “That man’s got money coming out of his bloody ears! Do you want to leave me and your mum and the baby to fend for ourselves and starve in the street?” He turned and glared at Eggsy. “You better talk your sister ‘round, boy,” he growled, “or the _both_ of you will pay for it. I ain’t letting this bloke get away.”

Eggsy clenched his fists and gritted his teeth, biting back a retort. Before Dean could continue his tirade, Daisy, who’d been awoken by all the commotion, wailed loudly for her mother. As his mum hastened into the other room to soothe the little girl, Eggsy took advantage of the distraction and went down the hall after Violet.

He found her in her room, sitting on her bed and crying bitterly into her hands, her dark hair fallen out of its chignon and falling in soft curls around her face and shoulders. Eggsy closed the door behind him and sat down next to her on the bed.

“Don’t you worry, Vi,” Eggsy declared, rubbing his hand soothingly along his sister’s shoulder, handing over a handkerchief.  “We’ll work it out.”

“How?” wailed Violet, pressing the handkerchief to her eyes and tucking a curl behind her ear. “Sir Henry is so terribly rich and poor Mr Philips has nothing but a small country vicarage! How can he recommend himself against someone like Sir Henry!”

“Maybe I can talk to him,” Eggsy replied. “Sir Henry, I mean. I dunno, he doesn’t seem like a bad sort. Maybe if I tell him that you’re already promised to someone else, he’ll change his mind.”

“You _know_ our stepfather won’t allow it!” hissed Violet, casting a worried glance towards the door. “And Mama won’t dare go against him, even if she knows how much I love Mr Philips.”

“You know,” Eggsy said slowly, “you and Philips _could_ just run off to Gretna together and then Sir Henry couldn’t marry you.”

Violet looked appalled. “I couldn’t! Not with Mr Philips wanting to be a vicar! He can’t start his work in the parish with the scandal of _elopement_ hanging over his head!”

“I know,” Eggsy said with a rueful smile. “It was just a thought.”

Violet patted his hand. “Thank you. I know you mean well, Eggsy. But, unfortunately, it isn’t really an option.” She sighed sadly, then leaned over to rest her head on Eggsy’s shoulder. Eggsy tilted his head and rested his cheek on her hair. “What are we going to do?” Violet sniffled, dabbing at her eyes with the handkerchief clutched in her fingers. “Yesterday, I was so happy to be planning a wedding with Mr Philips, and now that’s nothing but a broken dream.”

“Between the two of us, we’ll think of something,” Eggsy assured her.

“How?”

Eggsy smiled down at his sister. “Just ‘cause I didn’t go to a fancy school like you don’t mean I ain’t smart, you know,” he teased.

Violet’s lips twitched a bit as she sat up and wiped her eyes. “I know,” she said, squeezing his hand. “Though I hope you’ll draw the line at calling him out or some such nonsense.”

“Oi,” Eggsy protested halfheartedly, nudging her shoulder with his own. “And here you just agreed I was smart.”

His sister let out a watery giggle. “You are quite clever, brother dear,” she soothed, reaching up to brush a lock of his hair out of his eyes. “And you know it. But you are also fiercely protective of Mama and Daisy and me, and I wouldn’t put it past you to let your temper get the best of you. I find it entirely plausible that you’ll go to see Sir Henry intending a polite chat, and next thing you know, you’re frantically looking for a second for a duel at dawn.”

“Maybe I’ll just ask you to be my second,” Eggsy replied, grinning. “I’ve seen you with that fan of yours. I bet you’d do some damage.”

“Somehow, I don’t think ladies’ fans are an approved choice of weapon among gentlemen.”

“Good thing I ain’t quite a gentleman then, innit?”

“You might not be as educated as some,” said Violet solemnly, “but as far as my opinion goes, you are a gentleman in all the ways that matter.”

“You’re a treasure, Vi,” Eggsy smiled and gave his sister a cheeky wink. “And you know your opinion’s worth far more than what any of those toffs think of me.”

The two sat in a companionable silence, Sir Henry and his proposal momentarily forgotten.

“You know,” Eggsy said suddenly, “the more I think about it, the less this feels like _he’s_ doing _us_ any sort of favor.”

“He’s doing what he thinks is right,” said Violet, running a hand over her mussed tresses. “Though I do wish he’d chosen to go about it a different way.”

 “A different way,” echoed Eggsy. “Now there's a thought.”

“What do you mean?”

"I've just had a rather brilliant idea."

"Oh?"

“You’re gonna think I’m a bit crazy.”

“My dear brother, nothing you could say would ever sway me from my bone-deep certainty that you are _more_ than a _bit_ touched in the head.”

“Oh, well, a load off my mind, that is.”

“So,” Violet waved a hand at him, “what’s this idea of yours, then?”

“Well...what if  _I_ married him instead.”

“What?” Violet exclaimed. “You?”

“Sure,” Eggsy shrugged. “I mean, I’m Dad’s child, too, right? And I ain’t married.”

“I can’t let you do that,” Violet protested. “Tie yourself to a man you don’t even know.”

Eggsy snorted. “But _you’ll_ do it? _And_ have to give up Philips, too? At least I ain't gonna break my heart to marry him.”

Violet sighed. “But Sir Henry’s going to want children.”

“I doubt it,” Eggsy said cheerfully. “At his age? He ain’t gonna want no squalling kids running around, always underfoot—don’t tell Daisy I said that.”

Violet giggled. “I’d never dare upset your place in Daisy’s affections.”

“You would, too. You know you’re secretly jealous that she loves me best.”

"Everyone who knows you loves you best, my dear brother," Violet said warmly, brushing an affectionate hand over his hair. “But seriously, Eggsy, how do you plan on persuading Sir Henry to marry you instead of me?”

At that moment, Eggsy remembered the meaning of the medallion around his neck, and another idea started to form.

“You've got that look on your face again,” warned Violet. “The one that always precedes you doing something rash and stupid.”

“Don’t you go worrying about my face,” said Eggsy. “And don’t worry about this whole proposal thing, neither. You just think about being Mrs Philips, alright? I’ll deal with Sir Henry Hart.”

 

* * *

 

 

Mister John Merlin, who still spoke with the thick Glaswegian brogue of his native land despite having lived in London for more than fifteen years, was Sir Henry’s oldest and dearest friend. The two had met as boys at school and had quickly become inseparable. Over the years, Sir Henry had come to value his friend’s wit and wisdom, particularly Merlin’s penchant for plainly speaking his mind. Sir Henry, so used to his acquaintances tempering their true thoughts out of a sense of consideration for his wealth and position, found his friend’s blunt truths refreshing, and often sought out his old friend for advice.

“I know that Lee Unwin’s death has weighed on you for a long time,” said Mr Merlin gently, once Sir Henry had informed him of the events that had transpired earlier that morning, “but are you sure that marrying Miss Unwin is what you truly want to do?”

“I feel it is no longer a matter of what I _want._ That stepfather of hers is deplorable,” said Sir Henry. “I wish I had known that; I would have acted much sooner. If nothing else, I am removing her from his reach and influence and giving her a better life than she would get living in that house. I shall console myself with that thought. She may never be happy with me, but at least she will live in the knowledge that I will never harm her.”

“Of course you wouldn't, but a lady generally wants more from a husband than that.”

Sir Henry sighed. “Which, as you are aware, I am not entirely sure I can give her,” he said uneasily. “I’ve never really been the marrying sort, as you know, Merlin—“

“Aye, I certainly don’t need a reminder of the last time someone tried to lead you to the altar,” said Merlin darkly.

Sir Henry smiled gently at his friend. “You've always placed too much of the blame on him, my dear fellow,” he said. “We were both young and foolish; I was just as much at fault as he was, if not more so, for the dissolution of our relationship.”

Merlin snorted disdainfully. “You've told me before and I still won’t believe it."

 “Regardless,” Sir Henry continued, “I did not wish to marry _anyone_ then, and if it weren't for the inheritance—“

“And I say damn your inheritance,” Merlin interrupted. “Your cousin Lord Morton is a decent sort, though God knows he doesn't need the money he’d inherit from you. You’re the last of the Harts, of course, but that never seemed to bother you in the past.”

“You’re quite correct. The ending of the Hart name doesn't bother me and never has. If it had, I would have married and had children long ago. I only proposed to the girl because I feel my honor demands it, and, of course, with a wife, I will be expected to produce heirs in due course.”

“To be quite frank, Hart,” said Merlin, leaning back in his chair, “I don’t think anyone _expects_ anything from you anymore. You've never been one to do what is expected of you, so I don’t see why you’re suddenly so worried about it. You were always more concerned about doing what you thought was _right_ and damn the consequences, which, from my point of view, is exactly what you’re doing here.”

 “ _Am_ I doing the right thing, Merlin?” Sir Henry asked. “She is so very young, after all, and it was her stepfather that agreed to this marriage; no doubt her own opinion on the matter was given very little consideration.”

“By either party,” replied Merlin mildly, with a chastening glance. “After all, you did not include Miss Unwin in your conversation, either.”

“No, you’re quite right,” agreed Sir Henry. “And that was very wrong of me. I’m not sure exactly what I was thinking.”

“That a mother knows her own daughter’s heart, no doubt,” said Merlin. “And that Mr Baker would not be at home. Not to mention that you always tend to think you know best.”

“If only I had discussed this with you beforehand,” said Sir Henry ruefully. “You are sure to knock that line of thinking out of my head straightaway. But once I knew Sir Chester had got wind of it, no doubt from one of my gossipy maids overhearing me muttering my plans to myself, I simply thought I would just get the job done and over with before he could try to change my mind again.”

“Ah, well,” said Merlin. “What’s done is done, Hart. You’re engaged to the girl and she might not be happy about it tonight, perhaps, but she’ll come around. You’re a pleasant man, after all, and I’m sure she’s a lovely and clever lass. She’ll make friends as Lady Hart soon enough.”

“That does remind me,” said Sir Henry thoughtfully. “I should call on Lord and Lady Morton after lunch. Their daughter is a few years older than Miss Unwin but would no doubt be a great friend to her, not to mention a useful ally for navigating society.”

“Aye,” agreed Merlin, “Miss Roxanne’s approval of her would go a long way in silencing any who might voice recriminations at your choice.”

 

* * *

 

The Honourable Miss Roxanne Morton, ‘Roxy’ to those few lucky enough to be granted the privilege, as accomplished and intelligent as she was beautiful, sat at her writing desk and resisted the urge to throw her pen across the room in a most unladylike fashion. At twenty-three, she was one of the most sought-after ladies in all of London, mostly due to her ladylike figure, fine features (most noticeably her dark eyes, bright and laughing and framed by beautiful long lashes), and her quick wit, and (as her suitors claimed they’d swear in a courtroom) only _slightly_ to do with her great fortune. Unfortunately for her, this all meant receiving quite a lot of correspondence and invitations, most of them, she admitted to herself, as unwanted as they were unsolicited. However, she dutifully replied to all of them with a simple line about _Regrets, Unable to attend, Sincerely yours, etc._

“This would be so much simpler,” she muttered to herself as she answered yet _another_ request for dinner with a family whose son was _quite eligible, my dear Miss Morton_ , “if Father and Mother would just have another child. Then I could remain happily unmarried forever and never have to answer another tedious proposal again.”

“I apologize for the interruption, Miss Morton,” came the voice of the butler from the doorway, “but Sir Henry Hart has arrived.”

“Oh, thank the Lord,” Roxy exclaimed, relieved, as she set down her pen. “Do show him in.”

The butler returned momentarily with Sir Henry, and Roxy strode across the room to greet him, her hands held out in welcome. “Good afternoon, Sir Henry! What an unexpected pleasure it is to see you.”

“My dear Roxy,” Sir Henry said warmly, taking her hands as he bent down to press a light kiss to her upturned cheek.  “You are as lovely as ever.”

“And _you,_ Cousin, are as charming as always.” Roxy replied, squeezing his fingers and leading him to the richly upholstered divan in the corner. “Oh, I am _so_ pleased to see you, and not just because I can abandon all those tiresome invitations now that you’re here. I feel it’s been an age, although I am certain we saw each other at Lord and Lady Holmberg’s just last month. I am afraid Father isn't home at the moment.”

“That’s quite alright,” Sir Henry said, releasing her hand as he took a seat. “I’m actually here to speak with you.”

“Wonderful,” Roxy replied, smoothing a hand down her skirt. “Though I do hope this isn't about the Goldman’s dinner in a fortnight, as we only agreed to go because you said you were going. If I end up having to sit next to their odious son without you there to keep me from smothering him with my serviette, I will be quite vexed with you.”

“No,” said Sir Henry, smiling, “I would certainly not risk Master Goldman’s health in such a reckless manner.”

“Well then,” said Roxy, smiling back. “What brings you here on this particular day?”

“This morning, I made an offer,” Sir Henry declared abruptly as he absently twisted his fingers together, “for Miss Violet Unwin, and her parents have accepted.”

Roxy blinked, momentarily shocked. “I do not know that name,” she said. “Is she of our acquaintance?”

Sir Henry hesitated. “She is the daughter of Mr Lee Unwin,” he said at last. “He and I served in the army together and he saved my life.”

Roxy made a slight hum of understanding and gestured that he should continue.

“Miss Unwin is….quite young,” continued Sir Henry, a bit uneasily. “And, I am sure, used to being around people of her own age and sex. I was hoping, my dear Roxy, that you might be willing to be a friend to her once she is my wife.”

Roxy’s lips curled into a smile and she reached over to press a hand gently to her cousin’s fingers. “Of course I will,” she replied warmly. “Indeed, you did not need to ask, as I would have befriended her regardless.”

“I know,” Sir Henry replied, encasing her hand within his own. “You are quite generous, my dear, and I am sure that you and Miss Unwin will get along very well.”

“I look forward to meeting her,” Roxy declared. “I am quite sure she and I will be fast friends.”

“I do hope this will not make things awkward with your family,” Sir Henry said. “This does have the potential to change the line of inheritance for my estate, you realize.”

Roxy nodded. “You know that never really mattered to Father,” she replied. “Nor to me.”

Sir Henry’s shoulders lost some of their tension. “I had thought as much,” he admitted. “But it is one thing to say it when there is no expectation of change in circumstance and another to actually mean it in the face such change.”

Roxy squeezed his hand. “Let me reassure you, then, as I am sure I can speak for both my parents and myself, that we are nothing but happy for you, and wish you and Miss Unwin all the best.”

“Thank you,” said Sir Henry as he stood. “I apologize for the brevity of my call,” he said apologetically, “but I have much to prepare for.”

“Of course,” replied Roxy as she rose to her feet as well. “But when you have no more to prepare, do call again, as even a brief respite from my tiresome and unrelenting suitors is a welcome one.”

“I will keep that under consideration when making out my daily schedule,” replied her cousin with a sardonic half-smile, which she returned. He gave her a slight bow, then took his leave.

Roxy returned to her writing desk and glared down at the stack of letters. She glanced at the door where her cousin had just exited, then reached for a blank piece of paper.

After writing the day’s date, she tapped her chin thoughtfully for a moment, then the scratching of her pen echoed in the quiet room as she began to write.

_Dear Miss Unwin…_


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eggsy considers his plan and his future. He meets a snobby butler and a much less snobby Sir Henry. His plan ends up going rather well, in the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe the response! This fic has over 150 subscribers! Thank you guys so much. :)
> 
> Not beta'd or Brit-picked, so let me know if you see any gaffes. :)

Eggsy tossed and turned in his bed, his mind too busy to allow him to rest. Eventually, at some dark hour in the middle of the night, he gave up on the possibility of sleep, throwing back the blankets and pulling on a warm, if slightly tattered, dressing gown and curling up in the chair next to the window, tucking his cold feet beneath him and wrapping one hand around the medallion, clutching it until he could feel the edges digging into the meat of his palm.

He gazed unseeing into the darkness, contemplating the possible outcomes of his upcoming conversation with Sir Henry. A part of him still hoped that Sir Henry would be willing to listen to reason, and that once he heard that Violet’s heart was engaged elsewhere, he would simply agree to give her up with all the best wishes, etc, and that would be that. However, Eggsy did have some inkling of what these high society types were like, and he was certain it would not be as easy as that, as Sir Henry no doubt had the sort of pride that would not allow him to concede to a mere vicar and come out with _no_ spouse whatsoever, and Eggsy was quite relieved that he had the medallion and the promised favor that came with it, which would allow him to put forward his plan of offering himself instead of Violet, if necessary.  

Eggsy wondered what sort of man would require that a woman marry him once he knows she has no desire at all for the match. While Sir Henry could be excused slightly for his ignorance of Violet’s feelings, and his mum would certainly never speak against Dean in front of company (if at all), Dean had known all about Mr Philips and had chosen to ignore it (though, Eggsy admitted, Dean would no doubt sell his soul to the devil for the right price, so forcing his stepdaughter to give up her happiness in order to secure a rich man wasn't exactly surprising behavior on Dean's part). It would be one thing, he supposed, if both parties involved were to agree to a mere marriage of convenience, but Violet had not been consulted by anyone! It all seemed a bit underhanded to Eggsy, and he hoped that Sir Henry would not act in such an entitled manner in _all_ things.

His contemplation led to musings on what life would be like as Sir Henry’s husband—that is, if Sir Henry agreed to honor the promise given so many years ago in the manner Eggsy would suggest. Eggsy knew that, objectively speaking, Violet would be better suited for such a position; she was far more educated and had very nice manners and spoke French (which those upper class types seemed to find important). Eggsy could read and write, and he was actually quite good at mathematics, but quite often he was no more than civil to anyone until they’d earned his respect, and Sir Henry and his friends would would no doubt say that Eggsy could hardly speak proper _English,_ much less any foreign languages _._

Being the husband of someone like Sir Henry would mean being surrounded, for the rest of his life, by the sort of people who’d always looked down at him, and he would be expected to be pleasant to them, to act as though they’d never sneered down their long noses at him in the street, let their judging eyes slide down his perfectly serviceable clothing (which, unlike theirs, was not of the highest quality or the latest fashions) or mocked his less-than-perfect grammar or tone.  Judging from his brief glimpses of Sir Henry (including the encounter when he was a boy), and the fact that Sir Henry still wanted to repay his perceived debt to Eggsy's father after so long, Eggsy was somewhat hopeful that Sir Henry himself wouldn’t be nasty about any of it, but that didn’t mean he would defend Eggsy from any of the barbs that would no doubt be sent his way by any of those in Sir Henry’s circle of acquaintances.

Eggsy was under no illusions about what he was about to do. But it had to be done. For Violet. He clutched the medallion a little bit tighter, and, at long last, fell into an uneasy sleep, still curled up in his chair.

 

* * *

 

The next morning, Eggsy carefully bathed and shaved, and put on his best suit—a black coat and breeches with a navy waistcoat with shiny silvery buttons, that more than one admirer had said brought out his eyes. He’d purchased it about two years ago when he'd been asked to stand up in a wedding, and it was still in fairly good condition, even after being relegated to the back of the closet for so long. He carefully did up all the buttons, made sure his best boots were polished, and, after a hurried breakfast picked from the bread and cold meats left over from the night before, set off to find Sir Henry’s residence. He was glad to note that while it was, of course, in a far more fashionable part of town than Eggsy’s home, it wasn’t terribly far, as this would allow him to save himself the trouble and expense of hiring a hackney-coach. Besides, Eggsy was an excellent walker, and going to Sir Henry’s home by foot would allow him more time to collect his thoughts before confronting him.

About thirty minutes later, Eggsy found himself in front of Sir Henry’s London townhome, a deceptively modest-looking two-storey, painted white with black trimmings, and with a gleaming knocker situated right in the middle of the front door.  A small balcony jutted out from the first floor and Eggsy could see a pair of paneled doors leading to the balcony thrown open, their sheer white curtains fluttering in the slight morning breeze.

Eggsy took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, jutted out his chin, and marched up to the door. Grasping the shiny brass knocker, he rapped it firmly against the door three times. The door swung open on well-oiled hinges to reveal a butler, face as sharp as the points of his starched collar, looking at Eggsy with all the disdain Eggsy was expecting from the people on this side of London.

“Good morning,” Eggsy said politely. “My name is Eggsy-sorry, _Gary_ Unwin, and I’d like to see Sir Henry, please.”

The butler arched a brow as his gaze slid down Eggsy’s body, taking him in, cataloging all Eggsy’s deficiencies. “I am afraid,” he said with a sneer, “That Sir Henry is not at home this morning.”

“When you say he ain’t _at home_ ,” Eggsy inquired, his tone losing some of its cordiality, “do you _actually_ mean he’s not here or do you mean he won’t want to see the likes of me?”

The butler’s face didn’t even twitch. “Sir Henry has no desire for… _visitors_ , at present,” he replied blandly. “Certainly none of _your_ ilk. Good _day.”_

“I’m his future brother-in-law, in case he didn’t tell you,” Eggsy blurted, shoving a boot into the doorway to prevent the other man from closing the door in his face. “And I think if he ain’t _at home_ for me, who’s gonna be his own _family,_ then he ain’t no kind of gentleman.”

The butler regarded Eggsy with the cold indifference so characteristic of those in his profession. “Young man,” he intoned frostily, “Perhaps if you…left your card, if indeed you are in _possession_ of one, or returned later this afternoon. Sir Henry is _quite_ busy this morning.”

“I see,” Eggsy mused as he shouldered past the butler and into the house, “that’d mean he’s in his study or some such, yeah?”

“ _Mister Unwin,_ _”_ the butler hissed, his bland façade falling at this shockingly rude behavior. “I am going to have to ask you to _leave_ before I call the constable!”

Eggsy ignored him, as was his usual practice when facing those who wished to deter him from a set course of action. “Down this hall, is it?” he asked, choosing a direction at random, the heels of his boots clicking against the polished oak floors. He reached a heavy door made of a dark cherry wood standing ajar, and a glance in to the room showed he’d chosen correctly, as he recognized Sir Henry, sitting at a large mahogany desk, brow furrowed as he read over a sheaf of papers, a pair of spectacles perched on the end of his nose.

Eggsy, never one to stand on ceremony, threw open the door and strode unannounced into Sir Henry’s study. Ignoring the quietly frantic pleas of the formerly unflappable butler behind him, Eggsy reached up, unbuttoned his collar, and yanked the chain from around his neck until the clasp released. Pulling it free, he tossed the medallion down on Sir Henry’s desk, where it landed with a loud clatter, making the older man jump slightly and look up to meet Eggsy’s firm gaze as Eggsy flopped gracelessly down into the leather chair set in front of the desk. Eggsy faltered a bit as those dark eyes met his own, as he hadn’t expected to see a hint of surprised amusement in Sir Henry’s expression.

 “Come right in, Mr Unwin,” Sir Henry said drily, removing his spectacles and gesturing with them at Eggsy and the chair he now occupied. “Have a seat, won’t you?”

Eggsy ignored his gentle chastisement, shook his head to clear it a bit, slouched defiantly further down in the chair, and crossed his arms. “I’m calling in your favor, Sir Henry,” he declared stoutly, jerking his chin towards the medallion on the desk.  _So much for the polite chat,_ he thought to himself, but he'd used up all his politeness on that butler, so straight to the point, it was.

Sir Henry looked down at the medallion on his desk as he absently tucked his spectacles into a pocket of his wine-colored waistcoat. “I didn’t realize you had kept this,” he murmured, reaching out gentle fingers to trace over the date imprinted on the back of the charm.

Eggsy shrugged. “Was pretty much all I had left of my dad,” he replied quietly. “I remember you, you know.”

“And I you,” replied Sir Henry, a touch of fondness warming his voice. “Though you were just a boy, then. And I remember my promise, though I cannot fathom what more you could possibly want from me after I have already offered for your sister.”

“That’s exactly it,” Eggsy declared, sitting up straight and squaring his shoulders, heedless of the way this action caused his jacket to tighten attractively across his chest. “I ask that you _not_ marry my sister.”

Sir Henry blinked, confused. “I beg your pardon?”

“Take back your offer for Violet,” Eggsy repeated firmly.

“Am I such an unsuitable match?” Sir Henry asked defensively. “I know I am quite a bit older than she is, but I assure you, I will treat her well—“

“It ain’t that,” Eggsy interrupted curtly, waving his hand dismissively, barreling through his explanation before Sir Henry could respond to his rudeness. “It’s just that Violet’s set her heart on marrying someone else and I ain’t gonna watch her marry someone she don’t love if I don’t have to.”

“While that is certainly an admirably progressive outlook, Mr Unwin, there is more to consider here than simple matters of the heart.”

“Like what?”

“Is this young man of good family and fortune?” inquired Sir Henry. “I assure you, both of mine are impeccable.”

“I don’t give a rat’s arse about his _fortune_ ,” said Eggsy, rolling his eyes, not noticing the slightly approving twitch of Sir Henry’s lips. “What I care about is that Mr Philips thinks my sister is the one what hung the stars in the sky, no matter what it says in the book of Genesis, and _you_ think she’s the means to ease your bloody guilty conscience, and that don’t sit right with me." He leaned forward a bit, his serious gaze locking onto Sir Henry's. "My sister loves Mr Philips and I love my sister, so you’re just gonna have to come up with some other way.”

Sir Henry raised a brow. “And what do you suggest, Mr Unwin? I offered funds and assistance to your mother when I gave you that medallion,” he declared, “and she refused all of my offers. Aligning your family with mine is the best way I can think of to honor your father’s sacrifice, and, to be quite honest, it’s the only option I feel I have left.”

“I don’t suppose you’ll accept me saying that you don’t actually owe us nothing.”

Sir Henry shook his head. “I owe my life to your father, and I have been quite remiss in paying that debt. You _must_ allow me to repay him in the manner my honor demands.”

Eggsy gnawed on his lip for a moment as he gathered his thoughts, not noticing the way Sir Henry’s dark eyes were drawn to his mouth at the gesture. “While I don’t think me dad would want you feeling like you had to marry someone you don’t actually wanna marry,” he said finally, “if you really feel marrying an Unwin is the way to go about this—“ he cocked an inquiring eyebrow at Sir Henry, who nodded—“and I can’t convince you to change your mind about it,--“ a headshake in the negative, this time— “there’s another way.”

“And what is this other option?”

Eggsy took a deep breath, then stood and spread out his arms. “Marry me instead.” 

 

* * *

 

Sir Henry’s eyebrows shot up. “I beg your pardon?” he asked, shocked. He certainly wasn’t expecting _this_ to be the young man’s suggestion.

“Marry me,” young Unwin repeated firmly. “I’m an Unwin, I ain’t married, and most importantly, unlike Vi, I ain’t in love with anyone.”

“I am afraid,” Sir Henry replied, “that I am expected to marry to provide heirs to my fortune.”

Unwin looked unimpressed. “Who cares about that. You got cousins, don’t you?”

“I do,” Sir Henry agreed, “but regardless, it will be seen as quite odd if I marry a brother rather than a sister.”

Unwin put his hands on his slim hips and titled his head, considering. “And you ain’t never done anything people thought was odd before?” he asked skeptically.

Instead of answering, Sir Henry rose from his chair and walked over to where Unwin stood. He looked down into the young man’s eyes for a moment, quietly assessing him. “Why did you leave the army?” he asked suddenly.

Unwin blinked at the _non sequitur._ “What?”

“You left the army before your training was over. Why?”

“What’s it to you?”

“I cannot afford a scandal,” replied Sir Henry lightly.

Unwin rolled his eyes. “Ain’t nothing scandalous,” he said. “Mum got scared I’d go off and die like my father did. Couldn’t do that to her. So I quit. Good enough?”

Sir Henry nodded. “Thank you for telling me.” He turned back to his desk, shifted a few papers, and traced one finger along the medallion still resting there, then looked back at Unwin, who’d been watching him patiently.  He let his eyes rest on the man standing before him, taking in his proud bearing—he could see the young man’s father in those keenly intelligent eyes and that firm jaw--and his strong, athletic form, evident even through his entirely unfashionable and unflattering clothing, though at least that waistcoat was a decent shade. He could see potential in young Mr Unwin, the potential to be a great man, and it would indeed be a pity to let him languish on his current life’s path, placed there and unable to leave it due to circumstances beyond his control. Perhaps giving Lee’s son the resources to reach that potential was a better way to fulfill his debt to the man than an unhappy marriage to his heartbroken daughter.

“Very well,” Sir Henry said at last, holding out a hand with a slight smile. “We have a deal, Mr Unwin. I will indeed do you the honor of granting you my hand in marriage.”

Unwin's shoulders relaxed as he shook the offered hand firmly and grinned broadly, revealing a rather becoming pair of dimples. “If we’re gonna get married,” he said, a sudden hint of warmth in his voice, “you should probably call me Eggsy.”

“Good _god_ , why?”

Unwin—Eggsy--laughed at Sir Henry’s expression. “That’s what all me family calls me,” he said, still chuckling, his strong fingers seemingly in no hurry to remove themselves from Sir Henry’s longer ones. “I ain't gone by 'Gary' for as long as I can remember, unless I'm in trouble with Mum. If you’re gonna be family, you might as well get used to it.”

Sir Henry sighed. “Very well. If you insist.”

Eggsy nodded firmly. “I do.”

“Then my solicitor and I will call on you later this week to make arrangements…Eggsy,” Sir Henry said, the name strange on his tongue, as he finally removed his hand from the younger man’s.

“I’ll be sure to put the kettle on for you, Harry.”

Sir Henry’s brows shot up. “I certainly hope you do not seriously intend to refer to me by that name in the future,” he reproached.

“Of course I will,” Eggsy declared. “Why wouldn't I? We’re gonna be husbands, what else would I call you?"

"You might start with 'Sir Henry.'"

"I ain’t calling you ‘Sir Henry’ like some stranger, or ‘Hart’ like I’m one of your old school mates.”

“It’s quite presumptuous of you to be so familiar with me so quickly,” replied Sir Henry, amused despite himself, his lips curling in a small smile. “And, frankly, a bit rude.”

“Didn’t any of your family ever call you that?”

“My mother did, God rest her soul.”

“If it’s good enough for your mum, it’s good enough for me,” Eggsy insisted stubbornly. Noting Sir Henry’s dubious expression, he rolled his eyes, heaving a long-suffering sigh. “I won’t call you it in _public,_ if you’re gonna make such a fuss about it,” he conceded. “But my mum and dad always called each other by their Christian names and that’s what's always felt right to me, with married folk, even if it ain’t strictly _proper.”_

Sir Henry could tell he would lose this battle, and, to be quite honest, he wasn’t terribly disappointed in the defeat. It was a small concession to make, after all, and he was a little flattered at Eggsy’s apparent determination to eschew the icy formality so common in marriages such as theirs would be. They may be strangers now, and will still be no more than acquaintances when they marry, but, it seems, there is hope that he and his future husband might, one day perhaps, be friends. 

"I am terribly sorry to have to cut our conversation so short, Eggsy," Sir Henry said suddenly, with an apologetic look, "but I really  _am_ quite busy this morning."

"Ah," said Eggsy, nodding towards the door, "So your butler  _wasn't_ just being an arse." 

Raising a slightly disapproving eyebrow at Eggsy's language, Sir Henry shook his head. "No, not entirely, though if I'd been informed you were at the door, I would've told Roberts to let you in, regardless." 

"I'll keep that in mind for next time," said Eggsy, as the two men left the office and made their way down the hall.

“I do look forward to our next meeting, Eggsy,” Sir Henry said as they reached the foyer. "This has been a most... _interesting_ morning." 

"It ain't every day you get engaged," replied Eggsy jovially.

"Certainly not," agreed Sir Henry with a smirk, "although, I must admit, twice in one week is a bit excessive for my tastes."

Eggsy's smile broadened. "Well, let's not make it three, yeah?"

"I shall certainly refuse any other offers that come my way."

Standing in the open doorway, Eggsy held out a hand, cheerfully ignoring Roberts' baleful glare from where he stood holding the door. “Be seeing you soon, Harry,” he said, dimples flashing. 

Sir Henry took Eggsy’s hand and, on impulse, raised it to his lips and pressed a perfunctory kiss to the younger man’s knuckles, ignoring Roberts' disapproving _tsk_. “Until then, Eggsy,” he murmured. Releasing Eggsy’s hand, he turned and strode back to his office, intending to resume the work Eggsy had interrupted. However, he could not seem to concentrate, his thoughts continually wandering away from his accounts and returning to his new fiancé.

A part of Sir Henry couldn’t _wait_ to introduce Eggsy into society; they wouldn’t know what to make of him. He was particularly looking forward to the expression on Sir Chester King’s face when he discovered that not only had Sir Henry gone through with his plan to marry an  _Unwin_ , he'd gone and married the _son._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me [on tumblr!](http://apugnamedjb.tumblr.com)


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eggsy tells his family (and Sir Henry tells Merlin) about the new engagement. Violet receives a letter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your encouragement, kudos, comments, everything! <3
> 
> Sorry this chapter is late; I've been packing!
> 
> Also: Because I am moving next week, there will be no new chapter until June 10th or so.
> 
>  
> 
> Warning for brief mention of violence in this chapter

Eggsy returned home, flush with the success of his encounter with Sir Henry—well, _Harry,_ now—and slipped quietly into the house, leaning back against the closed door, smiling triumphantly at the empty hall. His smile faltered momentarily when, out of habit, he reached up to clutch the medallion around his neck, not remembering it was no longer in his possession until the moment his fingers touched only the bare skin of his throat. He wondered if Harry would let him have it back even though Eggsy had used it to call in the favor, as Eggsy had to admit he felt a bit underdressed without it; after all, he’d worn it constantly since he was seven years old.

“And where did _you_ go off to so early in the morning?” Violet’s gentle voice came from the stairway, and Eggsy dropped his hand and straightened up as his sister came down into the entryway to join him. “I heard you leave over an hour ago.”

“Oh, just here and there,” Eggsy replied nonchalantly. “Might have stopped and had that chat you and I discussed…the one with a certain gentleman of our acquaintance.”

Violet’s eyes widened and her smile dropped as her expression turned grave. “Sir Henry?” she whispered, darting a glance back towards the other room, where their mother and stepfather were finishing a late breakfast. Eggsy could hear his mum encouraging little Daisy to finish “just one more bite of your porridge, sweetie.” Dean’s voice rumbled a reply, but the words didn’t quite carry to the hall; it was probably yet another complaint about how no one in the house was grateful for the food Dean put on the table.

Eggsy nodded at Violet. “Don’t you worry,” he reassured her, reaching out to take one of her hands between both of his. “It went just as well as I hoped. Maybe better.”

Hope sparked in Violet’s eyes. “He agreed to release me?”

Eggsy nodded again. “He’s marrying me, now. You’re free.”

Violet reached out her other hand to cover Eggsy’s. “Are you _sure_ you’re all right with this?” she asked, her beautiful eyes full of concern for her brother, even as a relieved smile spread across her face. “I am _so_ happy that I can marry the man I love, and I am forever thankful that you did this for us, but I do not think I will ever be entirely comfortable with the thought that my happiness required you to sacrifice yours.”

Eggsy squeezed her hands. “I’m fine,” he soothed. “He’s an all right sort. Didn’t scowl at me or nothing when I barged into his study and told him straight off he weren’t going to marry you.”

Violet gasped. “Eggsy, _no.”_

Eggsy smiled crookedly. “Threw the medallion on his desk and everything,” he reported with a cheeky wink.

“The medallion!” Violet’s eyes widened in comprehension. “Oh, Eggsy. You _didn’t.”_

He laughed. “I told you, it turned out just fine. Harry said—“

“ _Harry?”_ Violet exclaimed. “He let you call him that?”

“Yep. Insisted on it. Made him agree to not call me Gary, neither.”

The sound of their stepfather’s heavy tread coming toward them interrupted any response Violet might have made. “Where you been all morning, boy?” Dean scowled at Eggsy. “And all fancied up? Trying out a new way to earn extra income, eh? Bet you spent the morning walking down along Smith Street.”

Eggsy, Violet, and their mother, who had followed her husband out of the other room, all flushed crimson at the vulgar insinuation. “Actually,” Eggsy said, pulling his hands from his sister’s, “I’ve been to see Sir Henry Hart this morning.”

Dean’s scowl deepened. “You better not done anything to ruin this wedding,” he threatened, jabbing a thumb towards Violet. “This one is gonna marry him and I don’t want to hear any more wailing about that little prick in the country.”

“That ‘little prick’ is going to be your son-in-law,” Eggsy replied tightly. “You should probably stop calling him names like that before the wedding.”

Dean’s hand shot out and he slapped Eggsy, hard, across the cheek, ignoring his wife and stepdaughter’s alarmed cries at the action. “What the hell did you do, you disrespecting, worthless little bastard?” he hissed into Eggsy’s startled face. He gripped Eggsy’s collar and pulled the young man hard towards him until Eggsy could smell the jam from Dean’s morning toast on his breath. “I swear I’ll kill you, you stupid—“

“He’s marrying me,” Eggsy blurted. “Not Vi. I had that medallion he gave to Mum after my dad died and I used it to get him to marry me instead of her.”

“He’ll still be family, Stepfather,” Violet attempted to soothe, reaching a tentative hand to hover over Dean’s arm.

Dean smacked her hand away. “Yeah, but he can’t get this one up the duff, though, can he?” he sneered, shaking Eggsy by the collar still gripped in one rough hand. He turned to glare at Violet. “At least _you_ could have gotten a baby or two out of him, and I’d be his kid’s granddad, see? Ain’t no kid want to see their granddad living lower than them.” He gestured around their small house with the hand not busy crumpling Eggsy’s best shirt. “He’d have gotten us a better house for when you and the little ones came by.” Dean turned back to Eggsy and slapped him hard across the other cheek, leaving a matching red print across the young man’s face, the grip on Eggsy’s collar tightening again, until Eggsy could hardly breathe. “ _You_ ain’t worth _nothing_ to me _,_ you useless little shit _,”_ he hissed, his breath hot on Eggsy’s skin. “Ain’t never done. All that man can do is _bed_ you, and that’s not gonna get me a damn thing.”

“He could still help us,” Violet pleaded. “Just because he won’t be family by blood doesn’t mean he won’t do his duty to us as his relations!"

“Dean, _please,”_ begged Michelle, clutching a sniffling Daisy to her chest.

Dean ignored both of the women. “You been disrespecting me ever since I met you,” he snarled at Eggsy. “You always thought you was better than me when everyone knows you ain’t _nothing,_ and I ain’t about to watch as your insolent little arse goes off and gets rich and you leave us behind. I won’t allow it.”

Eggsy suddenly laughed in his stepfather’s face. “Won’t _allow_ it?” he echoed incredulously. “There’s nothing you can do about it. I’m twenty-five. I ain’t a kid no more. I live under your roof, but you got no control over what I do or who I marry. You ain’t the boss of me. He’s agreed to marry _me_ and that’s what’s gonna happen.” He wrenched himself out of Dean’s grip and smoothed down his clothes. “And you won’t stop Vi from marrying who she wants, neither,” he demanded as Dean’s face darkened, “or I’ll tell my _fiancé_ not to ever give you so much as a farthing.”

“You wouldn’t _dare_ ,” Dean threatened, clenching his big hand into a fist.

“Try it,” Eggsy replied, jutting out his chin, "What do you think he'll say when I show up at his house with a black eye?" Eggsy idly wondered where all this sudden boldness was coming from. He supposed it was the knowledge that he wasn’t alone, that he had someone as untouchable to Dean as Harry was that he could call on if necessary, even if Harry would only help him for propriety’s sake.

Dean would certainly not risk the wrath of someone like Sir Henry Hart, even if his own plans for the man had been spoiled by Eggsy and the medallion.

 

* * *

 

In the few days since his confrontation with Dean, Eggsy had done his best to avoid his stepfather, spending most of his time either in his room, waiting for the marks on his face to fade, or accompanying his mother and sisters to the park. 

Eggsy hadn't seen much of his acquaintances since he’d informed them of his engagement as they'd all become rather hesitant around him. He had not known what to say to them, as he could not truthfully tell them nothing would change; he had no idea what would happen after his marriage. Would his friends still want to visit him, or would they be intimidated away by Eggsy’s sudden rise in rank? Would Harry even be willing to entertain them? Eggsy decided he would discuss those matters with Harry the next time he saw him.

Dean, still bitter about the demolition of his plans to extort funds from Sir Henry through Violet, did his part to avoid Eggsy as well. Dean spent more time than ever down at the pub, and last night he had stumbled into the house very late, and had not awoken at his usual hour this morning, coming down for breakfast just as the others were finishing their tea.

As Dean was scooping the last of the eggs onto his plate, a letter arrived for Violet, written in an unfamiliar hand. She’d pocketed the letter, not wishing to read it in front of her volatile stepfather as she did not know either its sender or its contents, and had promptly forgotten about it, only remembering the letter’s existence upon their arrival at the park later that afternoon, when the paper had crinkled as she sat next to their mother on the park bench. Daisy sat upon their mother’s lap, and Eggsy stood behind them, making silly faces at his youngest sister, causing her to shriek with delighted laughter.

Violet pulled the letter from her pocket, cracked the seal, and began to read. After a few moments, she turned to Eggsy and handed the letter to him. “Perhaps you should read this, instead,” she said. “It’s from Sir Henry’s cousin, a Miss Roxanne Morton. This is dated the same day Sir Henry secured _my_ hand, and I am certain all her news and introductions are more applicable to you, now.”

Eggsy glanced over the letter, glad that Miss Morton’s handwriting was clear and easy to decipher. “She says that Harry asked her to be your friend,” he reported. “Show you around society and such.” He folded the letter and handed it back. “Not sure it applies to me.” He grinned. “Don’t fancy I’ll be very welcome at the Ladies’ Salons, no matter how pretty I am.”

Violet laughed and swatted his arm with the letter. “Daft boy.” She contemplated the paper in her hands. “I suppose Sir Henry will inform her of the transfer of his offer to you before she would have the opportunity to hear it from me” she said, “though I shall write her and tell her of it, all the same. Perhaps I shall ask her to befriend you as she has offered to do for me, even if you do not need her companionship as I would have.”

“I hope she still offers it to you, even if you won’t be marrying her cousin no more,” their mother interjected. “She may be a fine lady but she could ask for no better friend than you, Violet, love.”

Violet leaned over and pressed a kiss to her mother’s cheek. “Thank you, Mama.”

Michelle reached up and patted Eggsy’s hand where it rested on her shoulder. “Or you,” she said. “I didn’t have much say in what happened with Violet, but I’m glad you looked out for your sister like you always done.” She tilted her head back to smile up at her son. “Your father would be so proud of you.”

“Thanks, Mum,” Eggsy said quietly, and he once again found himself reaching for the medallion no longer resting at his throat.

 

* * *

 

Sir Henry sat in his library, nursing a brandy from a heavy crystal snifter and absentmindedly twirling the chain of Eggsy’s medallion around the fingers of his other hand. Ever since the young man’s visit to his home a few days ago, Sir Henry had kept the thing in his pocket, and he’d often found himself looking at it.

The medallion hadn’t been a particularly _valuable_ piece of jewelry when he’d given it to Lee Unwin’s widow; he’d chosen it because it was unique enough for him to recognize should she decide to utilize the promise that came with it, but not so rare as to invite the interest of thieves. Sir Henry was pleased that the piece had survived in Eggsy’s possession all these years; the young man had taken good care of it, and Sir Henry was grateful that the charm had been returned to him in such fine condition.

He wondered if he should purchase a ring for his fiancé; although Eggsy had technically been the one to propose, society would, of course, assume that Sir Henry had been the one to secure Eggsy’s hand. Besides, he thought, one could argue that Eggsy’s betrothal gift to him had been the medallion, and he would certainly not press the young man for anything more than that, even if Eggsy had been able to afford it.

Perhaps a signet, he mused, with the Hart seal on it. Nothing too flashy, as Eggsy did not seem the sort to wish for ostentatious decoration in his dress (he was no fop, after all); he would probably appreciate a more understated piece of jewelry, and it would do the double duty of serving as both a betrothal gift and a subtle notice to anyone that might wish Eggsy harm that Eggsy was under Sir Henry’s protection.

“Begging your pardon, sir,” came the voice of a maid from the doorway, “but Mister Merlin has arrived.”

“Show him in, Martha,” ordered Sir Henry, returning the medallion to his pocket as he stood and walked to the desk to pour Merlin a glass of whisky.

“Good morning, Hart,” Merlin said cheerfully as he strode into the room. “We have not spoken these four days now, and I certainly cannot stay away any longer.”

“I appreciate your restraint,” Sir Henry replied with a smile as he held out the glass to his friend. “My liquor cabinet has been grateful for the brief respite.”

Merlin scoffed at him as he took the whisky from Sir Henry and settled into a leather chair near Sir Henry’s own. “Have you met up with your fiancée again?” Merlin inquired, taking a sip from his glass. “Resigned to her fate, has she?”

“Not quite,” replied Sir Henry, returning to his own chair. “To either of those questions. No, indeed, I had a _most_ interesting visitor a few days ago. The morning after my last conversation with you, in fact.”

“Did you, now?”

“Yes. While attending to some correspondence in my study, as, you know, I do most mornings after breakfast, I was quite suddenly interrupted by the arrival of the young man who was to be my brother-in-law.”

Merlin raised an eyebrow. “The girl’s brother? What did he want?”

“Well,” Sir Henry said, waving a hand, “the precise details of our conversation are not relevant, what _is_ important is that I am no longer engaged to his sister.”

“What?” Merlin exclaimed. “Why on earth not? You were so insistent about your intentions to marry her.”

Harry nodded. “I was, yes.”

Merlin frowned. “That must have been _quite_ a discussion if you were so easily swayed from your course.”

“Ah, well,” Sir Henry replied, shifting a bit in his chair and swirling his brandy. “I wasn’t _swayed_ so much as steered in more satisfactory direction.”

“Do not leave me in such suspense, Hart,” Merlin demanded. 

“I’m marrying her brother instead,” Sir Henry declared, sitting back and crossing his legs.

“Her _brother!_ ” Merlin exclaimed, sitting up straight and setting his glass down on the low table next to his chair. “How did _that_ happen? You might think the details are of no importance, but I must insist on hearing them.”

“He called in a favor,” Sir Henry explained, reaching into his pocket and pulling out the medallion on its chain.

Merlin’s eyebrows shot up. “I didn’t realize they still had that.”

“Nor did I,” Sir Henry replied, absently curling the chain around his fingers. “But Lee’s son kept it all these years and he used it to persuade me to transfer my offer to him.”

“What’s he like, this son?” Merlin wondered, rubbing a hand along his chin. “He sounds like an intriguing sort of fellow. Certainly nothing like the young men of our set, I’d wager.”

“I find him quite agreeable,” replied Sir Henry, amusement curling the corners of his mouth. “Albeit more than a _little_ rough around the edges, though that’s certainly remedied easily enough.”

“Aye,” agreed Merlin. “A visit to your tailor should do the trick.”

“Well,” Sir Henry demurred, “that, and a lesson or two in deportment.”

Merlin smiled mischievously. “Bit of a rascal, is he?”

“Indeed so.” Sir Henry’s own smile widened. “Pushed his way right past poor Roberts and into the house upon his arrival.”

“That’s probably the most excitement old Roberts has seen in ages,” said Merlin unsympathetically. “I like this lad already.”

“What you might find _most_ interesting about him, my dear Merlin,” Sir Henry responded, “is that, over the course of the same conversation, he not only persuaded me to throw over his sister and marry _him_ so his sister could marry a country vicar _and_ got me to agree to refer to him as ‘Eggsy,’ of all the _ridiculous_ names, by the end of the conversation, I also found myself allowing him to call me _Harry.”_

“Already has a knack of how to handle you, doesn’t he,” Merlin pronounced, settling back in his chair with a smirk and taking a satisfied sip of his whisky. “You know, Hart, I have a feeling he and I are going to get along _prodigiously_ well.”

“That’s rather what I’m afraid of,” Sir Henry admitted with a smirk of his own. “I am not sure if society can handle the two of you together in the same room.”

Merlin laughed. “I’ll take that as the enormous compliment it was intended to be, of course,” he said, raising his glass in a toast to his friend.

“Of course.”

“And is he handsome, this _Eggsy_?”

“Quite good-looking,” Sir Henry confirmed. “I have no doubt that he’s set more than a few hearts aflutter among his own acquaintances, and he will certainly repeat the process once he’s introduced to ours.”

“Well, at least there’s that,” Merlin said, crossing his ankles and finishing off his whisky. “Even if he ends up being less agreeable a year from now than he seems at the moment, at least you’ll have something pretty to observe across the dining table.”

“That is, of course, the exact pinnacle of marital bliss to which I aspire,” Sir Henry replied dryly. “That my spouse should replace my centerpieces as the most interesting thing to look at while I’m being served my soup.”

“That all depends on the centerpieces,” Merlin joked.

“If you have nothing _useful_ to say,” Sir Henry said with a dismissive wave of his hand, “feel free to go about your business and leave me and my whisky in peace.”

“Only this,” said Merlin, with more gravity than he had shown all morning. “Jests aside, I do _truly_ wish for you to be happy, and I hope that your marriage will be so.”

“Thank you,” Sir Henry replied, smiling at his friend. “I hope for the same, and I do not believe I am wrong by saying Eggsy does, as well.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm realizing that the medallion is becoming way more significant to this story than it ever was in _Kingsman_. 
> 
> Talk to me [on tumblr!](http://apugnamedjb.tumblr.com)


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is so late, sorry, everyone! Thank you all for your patience! :)
> 
> The next chapter might be delayed, as well, as I need to focus on finishing my fic for the mini Bang this week.

A few days after Miss Morton’s letter had arrived for Violet, Eggsy received his own letter, this one from Sir Henry’s solicitor. Eggsy wondered for a moment why he’d received a letter, rather than the two men calling on him as Harry had promised earlier, but he dismissed it as both men being far too busy to spend time delivering news in person—particularly to someone as unimportant as _Eggsy_ —that could be far more conveniently sent through the post.

In addition to including a request from Harry for Eggsy to call on him the following afternoon, the solicitor informed Eggsy that due to the Unwins’ reduced circumstances, Harry was offering to cover the entirety of the wedding expenses, the news of which, when Eggsy announced it to his family, cooled Dean’s ire towards the proceedings from a raging boil down to a low simmer, as Dean was always in a better mood when there was money to be had for him to spend on the races or the gaming tables; now that Sir Henry was paying for the wedding, he loudly claimed the money Michelle had managed to tuck away for Eggsy as his own, since Eggsy would no longer be needing it.

Dean had, in rather a turnabout from his prior statements, declared Sir Henry to be “decent enough, I reckon, for an old posh toff what’s crazy enough to want to marry _you,_ you useless little shit”—Eggsy personally thought Dean had no right to call his fiancé _old_ as Harry was no more than five or six years his stepfather’s senior, and the years had certainly been _far_ kinder to Harry than they had been to Dean, in Eggsy’s opinion—and told Michelle to buy the most expensive dress she could find to wear to her son’s wedding, as they could send the bill to _Sir Henry Hart_ instead of having to pay for their wedding clothes out of their own pockets. “This is about family pride, Michelle. We can’t have him lookin’ down on us any more than he is,” Dean had declared stoutly, over his wife’s protestations that they not take advantage of Sir Henry’s kindness and generosity. “You make sure you get the best they got in the shop, you hear? You and the girls.”

Now that he was merely _annoyed_ with Eggsy for ruining his plans for Violet and Sir Henry, rather than _furious,_ Dean now spent any time he and Eggsy were in the same room (which, thankfully, was not very often) sending the younger man narrow-eyed glares and making vulgar comments with his friends when the ladies weren’t around to hear about just what Eggsy’s duties would be once he was married—according to his stepfather and his friends, Eggsy would spend most of his time on his knees, but not from cleaning the floors.

(“He’s got servants for that,” guffawed one, a corpulent fellow whom Eggsy privately thought followed Dean around like a stray dog. “But now he ain’t gonna have to pay no more for what he can get from you for free!”

“That’s how he can afford to pay for the weddin’,” grinned another of his stepfather’s loutish companions, taking a long swig of his beer and leering at Eggsy.)

Eggsy did his best to remain unaffected by his stepfather’s vulgarities, although more than once he was tempted to comment that Dean and his associates seemed quite obsessed with thoughts of Eggsy’s fiancé’s cock —but he knew that would only cause Dean’s anger to flare up again, and Eggsy was prepared to bite his tongue for the remaining weeks before the wedding. After all, Dean’s bluster was far less painful than his fists.

While Eggsy was admittedly looking forward to his impending marriage, because it meant that he would be far away from stepfather and his horrible friends, he was not looking forward to leaving his mother and youngest sister alone with the man. Eggsy was glad that Violet was to be married not long after his own wedding, as she would also be out of their stepfather’s reach. But without Eggsy living at home, there would no longer be anyone else in the house at whom his stepfather could direct his ire other than Michelle and Daisy, and Eggsy knew he had to do something about it.

The next morning, after Dean had swallowed the last dregs of his tea and stomped out of the house, a handful of wrinkled pound notes clutched in his beefy fist, Eggsy sat in the living room with his mother, keeping her company as she did some mending.

“Mum,” Eggsy said after a while, breaking the companionable silence. “I’ve been doing some thinking.”

“Have you now?” Michelle asked, casting a curious glance at her son as she slowly pulled her needle and thread across a tear in one of Dean’s shirts. “What’s been on your mind, my sweet boy?”

“I don’t think I can just leave you and Daisy here alone with Dean. After I marry Harry.”

Michelle looked up from her mending, shocked. “Of course you must,” she said hastily. “You must go with your husband; you certainly can’t stay here.”

“You and Daisy should come and live with us after Vi marries Mr Philips,” Eggsy suggested. “I’m sure Harry won’t mind. I know once he hears about how Dean treats you--”

His mother shook her head and held up her hand to stop him. “You can’t be carrying tales about Dean to Sir Henry,” she ordered. “What we does in our house ain’t of no concern to him.”

Eggsy took a frustrated breath through his nose and tried another tactic. “He’s got plenty of room,” he pointed out. “I’m sure it wouldn’t be no bother at all.”

“I couldn’t do that, Eggsy,” she replied. “You’ll have your household and I’ll have mine. My place is with Dean, you know how it works.”

“But Dean is terrible, Mum. He ain’t a fit husband and you know it,” Eggsy pleaded.

Michelle pursed her lips, her eyes locked back on the torn shirt in her lap. “Now, Eggsy,” she said sternly, “I’ll tell you the same thing I told Violet when we thought _she_ was the one gonna marry Sir Henry. You ain’t married yet, so you don’t know what married life means, but it ain’t my place to go against my husband, and it ain’t gonna be yours, neither. You’ll have to hold that tongue of yours if you want to have a decent marriage.”

“Mum—“

“Your mouth has gotten you into trouble more than once,” said Michelle knowingly. “And that’s fine when you’re a young man; every boy argues with his father, it’s only natural, but it ain’t acceptable to sass back to your husband.”

“Is that why you ain’t never talked back to your husband?” Eggsy muttered. “Even though he deserved it a time or two?”

“Dean looks out for us,” Michelle said severely, giving Eggsy a sharp look. “A person can’t ask for more than that in a husband. Even if they might wish to. Sir Henry will take care of you and, being a gentleman, he’ll treat you proper. Don’t go risking that with your cheek.”

Eggsy bit his lip. His mother would not budge; after all, she was just repeating what she’d always been taught by her own mother, and he knew there was no way to convince her to change her mind once she’d set it. He hoped that perhaps he’d be able to bring up the topic with her another time, but for now, he knew that there was nothing else he could do but give in.

“I suppose you’re right, Mum,” he conceded, leaning over to kiss her cheek.  “I’m sorry. I just wish it was more like how it was when it was you and Dad.”

Michelle smiled sadly and reached up to cup her son’s jaw. “Marryin’ for love is a luxury, Eggsy,” she said gently. “One I was lucky enough to get with your dad, and that you’ve bought for Violet, bless you, but we can’t all afford to make such a sacrifice, ‘specially not more than once, love.” She blinked away a few sudden tears and cleared her throat. “We must make do, especially when we got children to think of, like I did when I married Dean.” She released him and returned to her mending. “Now, have you thought about your wedding clothes?”

Eggsy sighed and, taking his mother’s hint, allowed her to change the topic. But as they discussed fabrics and colors and all sorts of things Eggsy really didn’t have an opinion on, the thought crossed his mind that at least he had planted the seed in his mother’s own thoughts, and he made a note to discuss it with Harry at some point in the future, preferably when his future husband was in a generous mood.

* * *

 

Later that day, after a lunch spent coaxing little Daisy to eat her food rather than play with it, Eggsy brushed the dust from his clothing, shrugged at himself in the mirror—he was certainly no fashion plate, but at least his clothes were neat and clean-- and set off to Harry’s townhome, hiring a hackney as he was running late and did not want to show up tardy for his appointment with Harry. He spent the ride slightly amused that, barely a week ago, he’d thought of a hackney as an unaffordable luxury, and now here he was, casually using one as though he’d done it all his life. _I guess I should start getting used to it,_ he thought. _It **will** be my life soon enough._

When Roberts answered the door, Eggsy was far more polite than the last time he’d stood on Harry’s doorstep. He’d even tried to apologize to the butler for his behavior, but the man gave Eggsy a look that seemed to say that he certainly had no idea what Eggsy was even talking about and that Eggsy should stop lollygagging on the stoop. Eggsy mentally shrugged and decided that conveniently forgetting your employer’s fiancé’s rude behavior must be one of the duties of a butler, and stepped into the house, allowing Roberts to take his coat and lead him down to Harry’s study.

“Good afternoon, Eggsy,” said Harry, smiling slightly as Eggsy entered the room. “Do sit down. I do apologize for asking you to call on me rather than meeting with you at your home, but I thought it might be a bit more comfortable for both of us if we met here, instead.”

Eggsy nodded as he sat in the chair by Harry’s desk. “It’s fine,” he said. “You’ve seen our house a few times now. Not really up to par for visitors like you.”

“That’s of no consequence to me,” replied Harry dismissively. “I apologize if you thought I meant any slight to your family.”

“It’s alright,” Eggsy assured him. “No harm done. Gives me an excuse to get out of the house, anyway.”

“Of course.”

“What is it you wanted to talk to me about?” asked Eggsy. “If it’s anything regarding the wedding, I leave it all in your hands.”

“No, nothing about the wedding,” said Harry. “Though I do hope that you have _some_ opinions regarding the ceremony; it is your wedding as well as mine.”

“Harry, I don’t know a thing about any of that,” Eggsy said carelessly. “And it’s not like I got anyone coming except my family, anyway.”

“No one? Have you no one to stand up with you?”

Eggsy shook his head. “My old mates ain’t exactly comfortable about the idea of rubbing elbows with your people,” he said. “Unless you let my sister stand up with me, I got nobody.”

Harry looked amused. “I think our wedding will be talked about enough _without_ the addition of your sister as your best…well, woman.” He looked thoughtful. “Will Miss Unwin’s fiancé be at the ceremony?”

“No,” Eggsy said. “And anyway, I barely know him.”

Harry looked slightly disappointed. “Well, we shall have to think of something,” he said. “But we can do that another time, I suppose.”

“You’ve got more than one friend, yeah?” asked Eggsy. “We can just have two of them; it’s fine.”

“If you’re certain,” said Harry, a trifle uneasily. “I am meeting up with my friend Merlin on Friday, if you’d like to meet him. I’m sure he’d be willing to stand up for you rather than me, if you’ll allow it.”

“Look,” said Eggsy, reassuring, “who’s standing up for who is _far_ more important to you than to me. As far as I care, drag a busker off the street to stand with me.”

“As charming as that thought is,” replied Harry, “I think I’ll ask Merlin, instead.”

“Well,” said Eggsy, smiling, as he leaned back in his chair. “That’s settled, then. Now, what else did you want to talk to me about? Or were you just feeling deprived of my quite delightful company?”

“Well, as delightfulas your presence no doubt is—which I will, of course, explore for myself, soon enough—I did have a few other items I wished to discuss.”

“Sure,” Eggsy said. “What sort of things?”

“Forgive the presumption,” Harry said, shuffling a few papers on his desk, “but I thought you might wish to continue your education, as I understand it went by the wayside when you were young.”

“It did,” Eggsy agreed. “Vi did the best she could with me, but once she went away to school, I had to teach myself. I’m alright, I guess, but I would definitely like to learn more, if you’d allow it.”

“I’d more than allow it,” Harry said. “I _vastly_ encourage it. A well-informed mind can be one of your greatest assets in life.”

Eggsy’s face brightened. “Well, thank you, then,” he said, smiling. “That would be brilliant, Harry.”

“You’re quite welcome,” Harry said, smiling. “We can work out later which subjects you would like to pursue.”

“I’d appreciate it.”

Harry hesitated. “I’d also like,” he began, then stopped. Taking a deep breath, he started again. “I am not quite sure how to word this in a way that doesn’t cause offense.”

“Harry,” said Eggsy frankly, “you can’t say much worse than anything my stepfather’s said to me and I’m willing to bet that what you’re about to say ain’t nearly as bad as any of that.”

Harry frowned at that. “I hope your stepfather hasn’t given you any trouble since our engagement.”

Eggsy gave him a wry look. “That’s pretty much _all_ he’s done since I told him.”

Harry’s face darkened. “That certainly will not do,” he said firmly.

Eggsy shrugged. “What do you plan do about it?” he asked. “Not much you can do to him until we’re married.”

“You may not be my husband _yet_ , Eggsy,” said Harry, “but you will be soon enough, and your well-being is important to me.” He studied his hands for a moment, then removed his signet from his left hand. “I have not yet acquired an engagement ring for you,” he said, handing the ring over to Eggsy, “but perhaps this will suffice for now, if you permit.”

Eggsy studied the ring in his hand. Although the seal on the ring was still recognizable, it was a trifle worn, as though it had sat on many a Hart hand before Harry’s, and it was still warm from Harry’s finger.

“I had intended to give you a signet of your own,” said Harry, drawing Eggsy’s gaze from the ring to Harry’s dark eyes. “As is your due, of course. But perhaps seeing you wearing mine will be a better reminder to your stepfather and his ilk of just _exactly_ to whom you are affianced.”

“That sounds fine to me,” Eggsy said, sliding the ring onto his finger. Harry’s hands were larger than his, so the ring was too big for his smallest finger, but it was not quite large enough to fit all the way on his ring finger. He slipped it as far as it would go and curled his hand into a loose fist to keep the ring from falling off.

“We can go to the jeweler’s and get it resized later today, if you like,” said Harry. “And we can commission the wedding bands at the same time.”

“If you’re sure,” said Eggsy, a bit uncertainly, as he looked back up at his fiancé. “I mean, I’m willing to wait if you still want this back for yourself.”

Harry shook his head. “That is not the only signet I own; please, keep it. I am not willing to wait if it leaves you vulnerable to your stepfather’s whims.”

Eggsy sent him a grateful smile. “Before we got distracted by this,” he gestured with his right hand to the ring on his left, “you were trying to say something you thought I’d get angry about?”

 “Ah, yes,” said Harry. “Thank you for reminding me.” He appeared to be deep in thought, as though once again concerned about the wording of his next declaration.

“Just _say_ it, Harry,” said Eggsy. “I know you don’t mean any harm.”

“Very well,” Harry replied. “I would like you to not only be tutored in whatever academic subjects you wish to pursue, but also in deportment.”

Eggsy blinked. “Like, manners and shit?”

Harry nodded. “Yes,” he said, the corners of his mouth curling up in a small smile, a hint of laughter in his eyes. “Manners and…shit.”

“Oh,” Eggsy chewed on his lip. “Have I done anything embarrassing?” he asked.

“Not as far as I am concerned,” Harry reassured him, his smile dropping as his expression became more earnest. “But you’ll find that I am quite more indulgent than some others of my acquaintance.”

“And I’ll make you look bad?” Eggsy asked, jaw clenching a bit. “Worse than they’ll already think you for marrying me in the first place?”

“I am far less concerned about your reflection on me and more about you making a good first impression on them for your own sake,” Harry replied. “I have no doubt that you will do well in society, if they will permit themselves to let you.”

“So…I’ve got to change, then?” Eggsy asked shortly.

 “I do not wish you to change in essentials, Eggsy,” Harry soothed. “I would never ask that of you. I merely wish to…smooth your edges a bit.”

Eggsy looked down at his clothes—clean and neat, but, as all of his clothing was, not even close to being in fashion--and took a deep breath, remembering his mother’s words about _holding his tongue._ “What do I need to do?”


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time goes by.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, when I said last chapter that this one would be delayed, I didn't expect it to be delayed by two and a half _months_. Oops. So sorry about that, everyone!
> 
> Not exactly 100% happy with this chapter but it's almost THREE MONTHS LATE so I'm getting it out now.

Eggsy had been coming to his fiancé’s home three times a week for his lessons for the past few months, and now Eggsy was fairly well-versed in all the little mannerisms required of the class of which he would soon become a member. Eggsy thought the majority of them were ridiculous and unnecessary, but he’d kept his thoughts to himself after the lesson in introductions—he’d properly introduced himself to Harry, back straight and accent crisp, and Harry had sent him a proud smile the likes of which Eggsy hadn’t seen from anyone in years. Eggsy decided that the boring lessons were worth the trouble if he’d get that smile at the end of them, and did his best not to let his mind wander as his tutor droned on and on about the correct way to tie a cravat and how to ensure one’s back and shoulders never slumped.

For now, Eggsy was focusing on his etiquette lessons, but Harry had promised to find a tutor for his scholarly pursuits once they were married. The wedding was just a few weeks off, and both Harry and Eggsy’s tutor were pleased with his progress.

Eggsy’s tutor was a tall, thin man whose back and shoulders _never_ slumped and whose cravat was _always_ tied correctly— _Mr Eldridge Q. Dunwoody, Esq.,_ according to the card he’d solemnly handed Harry at the beginning of the first lesson, and Eggsy wondered what poor Dunwoody’s parents had been thinking when they’d saddled him with a name like that—and who, according to Harry, made his living providing deportment lessons to those in need of them, though his usual clientele consisted mainly of the _nouveau riche_ hoping to impress potential allies at Court.

(“Lord Morton speaks highly of him,” Harry had told him as he’d handed Eggsy the card—on plain white stock with no-nonsense black lettering, which Harry had told him boded well.

“And here I thought he was just goin’ with the cheapest option,” Eggsy had replied, lazily flicking the card between his fingers.

Harry had scoffed. “Examine it again,” he told Eggsy. “It’s high quality stock and the lettering is engraved. A bit extravagant, but subtly so.”

Eggsy (rather magnanimously, he thought) didn’t mention that Harry’s own cards were also engraved, and had a thin gilt edging, to boot.

“He was quite helpful with Morton’s clerk a few years ago, you know, when the boy was just starting out, and now that young man’s manners are quite impeccable,” Harry had said, his tone conveying that if a mere _clerk_ could learn some manners from Eldrige Q. Dunwoody, Esquire, _Eggsy_ certainly could.

Eggsy had just nodded and wondered if these New Money folks thought it was all a bit rubbish, too).

Although Harry was usually content to leave Eggsy to Dunwoody’s tutelage, he had expressed an interest in Eggsy’s lessons, and had even taken it upon himself to teach Eggsy a little. Because of this, Eggsy often spent a morning or afternoon at Harry’s even when he wasn’t scheduled for a lesson with Dunwoody. One afternoon, Harry had ordered the servants to set a full table and spent luncheon teaching Eggsy the uses of the various pieces of silverware, which Eggsy found rather dull, as he privately thought it was rather unnecessary to have six different kinds of forks set out for one meal when one fork would do. However, learning meal etiquette with Harry meant dining at Harry’s table, which was always set with delicious and savory foods, so Eggsy did not mind so much. It also gave him time with Harry, which he appreciated, as he was eager to know his future husband as well as he could _before_ their marriage, if possible. He shrugged to himself, decided that it was just another odd behavior of the wealthy, and dutifully tried to remember which fork was used for the salad and which for the entrée.

The deportment lessons were dull, but Eggsy greatly enjoyed others—Harry had been teaching him about his family history, and sometimes, when Merlin was there, the two older men would teach Eggsy the finer points of dancing (Harry was good at it, but Merlin actually _enjoyed_ it, so the two would take turns so Harry would not tire of it so quickly).  Eggsy was quick on his feet and did well enough with the dances Dunwoody dismissively referred to as “country dances,” so he took to the finer dances rather quickly.

(Eggsy liked Merlin _immensely—_ as Harry had suspected, the two of them got along like a house afire, and often when Eggsy and Merlin’s discussions grew a bit heated, their respective accents devolved into near incomprehension, much to Harry’s consternation.)

This particular morning, Eggsy and Harry were in the library, and Harry was teaching Eggsy a bit about the Hart holdings. Eggsy was pleased to discover that Harry owned a house in Essex, not terribly far from where Violet would settle in Hertfordshire after her marriage to Mr Philips.

“It’s no grand estate,” said Harry, passing over a drawing of the house, “but it’s a charming and comfortable home, nonetheless.”

Eggsy peered down at the drawing and raised a brow. He wondered what constituted a _grand estate_ if this house, which looked to be a rather large two-story stone structure, did not qualify for that title.

“I don’t travel there often,” Harry admitted as Eggsy continued to admire the sketch, “as I am not terribly fond of the country, but I am even less fond of London in July, so I thought we might spend our summers there, if you’re amenable.”

“That sounds quite nice,” said Eggsy, smiling at him as he handed the sketch back. “Could I invite my mum and sisters to come?”

“Of course,” Harry replied, bemused. “It will be your home as well as mine; you may invite whomever you choose.”

 “Are you sure?” Eggsy asked. “Some of my old friends back in Cheapside aren’t exactly your usual sort of people.”

“My sort?” Harry echoed. “Whatever do you mean?”

Eggsy shot his fiancé a look that said he was being particularly dim this morning. “If you thought _my_ manners were unbecoming beforeyou and Dunwoody got to me,” he drawled, purposely playing up his rough accent to drive the point home, “just know that my friends’ sometimes make mine seem like I was ready to meet the Queen right off the street.”

“Excellent,” Harry said in his crispest tone, tucking the sketch of his Essex home back into its folder. “Dunwoody was asking if I had any other acquaintances that could use his services once he’d finished working with you. I’ll send him your way; he’ll be ever so grateful.”

Eggsy laughed. “Because my friends could use a lesson in the proper angle when bowin’ to an earl.”

The corners of Harry’s mouth curled up in a slow smile. “I’m sure between the two of us, Dunwoody and I could find an earl or two who might find their ways endearing.”

“You two gonna start a trend, then?” Eggsy joked. “Find a rough and unfashionable spouse and smooth down their edges a bit?”

“It’s worked out fairly well so far, wouldn’t you agree?” Harry replied with a fond smile, and Eggsy twisted the signet around his finger as he smiled back.

 

* * *

 

Later that afternoon, Eggsy and Harry sat in the library, enjoying a pot of tea and a plate of scones with jam and clotted cream. Despite the fact that he loved jam and clotted cream with his scones, Eggsy avoided them as he had yet to master the art of eating scones in a gentlemanlike manner (how _did_ Harry avoid getting crumbs all over his waistcoat? Eggsy was beginning to suspect Harry had some kind of supernatural powers), and he’d had enough of his deportment lessons for the week without Harry lecturing him in how to eat a scone without getting cream all over his chin.

While Eggsy tried to subtly brush crumbs from his cuffs and trousers without Harry noticing, Roberts came through the door, carrying a silver salver.

“A letter has come for you, Sir Henry,” Roberts said, holding out the salver on which sat an envelope of a thick, cream-colored paper with a dark blue wax seal, speckled with flakes of what Eggsy thought might be real gold.

“Thank you, Roberts,” Harry replied, taking the letter. Roberts nodded at Harry and shot an amused smirk at Eggsy and his crumb-strewn cuffs before leaving the room.

Harry took one look at the letter and sighed heavily, his face twisting unhappily.  “I knew this would come eventually, though I’m grateful he waited this long to send it,” he said as he broke the seal and pulled out a sheet of paper. He shot Eggsy an apologetic look. “Do you mind?”

Eggsy shook his head and gestured to the letter with his half-eaten scone. “Go ahead,” he urged. “Though you don’t seem too eager to read it, if I’m not wrong to say so.”

Harry held up the letter. “This is from Sir Chester King,” he explained. “An old family friend, who, ever since my father’s death has felt he has the right to dictate my life to me.” He gave Eggsy a small smile. “He was _most_ disapproving of my scheme to marry your sister. I assume this is his belated reaction to hearing I am to marry _you_ instead.”

“Who could ever disapprove of Vi?” Eggsy asked stoutly, convinced, as all good brothers were, that his sisters were the most wonderful girls in the country. “Now, me, I understand; I’ll never be really genteel, no matter how hard you and Merlin and Dunwoody try, but Vi is as sweet a lady as ever there was and pretty as a flower.”

Harry _hmm_ ed in response, distracted by the letter he was now perusing. “Yes,” he said eventually, handing the letter over to Eggsy to read. “Just as I thought. The usual patter about bloodlines and polluting the shades of my home and so forth.”

“What do bloodlines matter?” asked Eggsy as he read. “Not like I can give you children or noth—anything.”

“Taint by association, I assume,” Harry replied, taking a sip of his tea. “I am only grateful that, this time at least, he didn’t feel the need to come give his disapproval in person.”

“What a wanker,” Eggsy concluded as he handed the letter back to Harry.

“Language, Eggsy,” Harry chided, though his dark eyes were dancing over the edge of his cup.

“Sorry,” said Eggsy, not sorry at all.

“Well,” Harry said, finishing the last dregs of his tea, “if you don’t mind, I’ll go reply to him now. If he doesn’t hear from me within the next couple of hours, he _will_ come and tell me all this in person.”

“Lovely.”

“Indeed. Oh, Eggsy, don’t forget,” Harry said as he stood, setting his empty teacup down on the small end table near his chair, “you have a final fitting for your wedding clothes with my tailor in about an hour—at three o’clock. I’ve also told him to make you a few things for our wedding trip.”

Eggsy groaned. “How many jackets and waistcoats and trousers does one man need?” he huffed.

“More than you have now, obviously,” Harry replied with a slight smile as he straightened his cuffs. “Do be on time. Oh, and make sure to get all the crumbs from your cuffs before you go, won’t you?”

With that, Harry excused himself to his study to compose his reply to Sir Chester, which left Eggsy alone in the library. He brushed the last of the crumbs from his sleeves and picked up a book—a history of Rome—setting on the low table next to his chair and began absently flipping through the pages before settling in to read it, skipping over words he did not recognize.

He looked up, startled, when the door opened a few moments later to admit Roberts, leading Harry's friend John Merlin into the room.

“You may wait here for Sir Henry, Mr Merlin,” Roberts said with a stiff bow.

“Thank you, Roberts,” said Merlin, nodding at him in thanks. He turned to look into the room, raising one eyebrow in surprise when he caught sight of Eggsy. “I beg your pardon, Eggsy,” he said. “I did not realize the room was occupied. I hope I have not disturbed you.”

Eggsy shot to his feet, tossing the book back down onto the table. “Not at all,” he blurted. “I was just waitin’ for Harry to finish his letter.”

“Letter?” echoed Merlin. “It must have been important if he’s answering it while you’re still here.”

“It was from Sir Chester King,” Eggsy began.

Merlin held up a hand. “Say no more,” he said, walking to the chair Harry had vacated and taking a seat. “Sir Chester acts as though the world turns on his correspondence. As if his surname is actually his title.”

“That’s what Harry said,” Eggsy nodded, sitting back down in his own chair. “Said if he didn’t answer it now, Sir Chester would drop by and just say it all to his face again.”

“I suppose it was in regards to you?” Merlin asked as he leaned forward and peeked into the teapot, smiling to himself when he noted the tea was still hot. He poured himself a cup and took a scone, smearing a bit of clotted cream on top. “I’m rather surprised it took him so long to make his feelings known on the subject.”

Eggsy shrugged. “Harry said he’d already given him grief about offering for Vi.”

“Yes, I recall,” Merlin replied. “I’d wager that Sir Chester’s disapproval was the final impetus for Hart to go through with his proposal.”

Eggsy frowned thoughtfully. “Why is he even still friends with him?” he asked. “This Sir Chester don’t seem like the kind of friend I’d want to have, if you don’t mind my sayin’ so.”

“Not at all,” Merlin said. “And, to be quite honest, I agree with you. But Sir Chester isn’t _entirely_ insufferable, and he has _connections,_ you know, and those are sometimes worth the trouble of suffering through his acquaintance.”

“I don’t know about that,” said Eggsy doubtfully.

“You’ll be experiencing it soon enough,” Merlin said with a tight little smile, taking a sip of his tea. “Once you’re Hart’s husband, you’ll have all sorts wanting you to recommend them to him. And others who will no doubt use you to criticize him.”

“Nobody’s going to care about _me,”_ said Eggsy uncomfortably, once again twisting the signet around on his finger. “I’m not anybody worth noticing.”

Merlin’s smile widened. “But you  _have_ managed to catch one of the most eligible bachelors in London.” He leaned in conspiratorially. “You do realize you will be the talk of the town once you’re married? More so than you already are, anyway.”

Eggsy flushed. “I’m not quite sure I want to be that,” he said. “I’m not really ready for that.”

“London will talk of you whether or not you care for it,” said Merlin. “You must simply show them that you don’t give a damn about their silly opinions.”

“I don’t,” said Eggsy. “I mean, not for me, anyway. I suppose I _do_ care what they say about Harry.”

“No need for that,” Merlin replied. “Hart cares about the opinions of very few people. He has already chosen to ignore the counsel of those who would disapprove of you. He does as he pleases, much to London society’s chagrin.” He sent Eggsy a searching look. “As I’m sure you have seen by now.”

Eggsy nodded. “I figured that out when he agreed to marry me instead of Vi.” He hesitated a moment. “I ain’t exactly cut out for this sort of thing,” he said apologetically, gesturing at the room around them.

Merlin raised a brow. “What, being rich and idle?” he asked. “You’re going to have to get used to it, I’m afraid.”

“Not idle,” said Eggsy. “Harry promised me an education after the wedding.”

Merlin smiled. “So he did,” he agreed.

Eggsy worried his bottom lip for a moment. “It ain’t— _isn’t—_ really my business,” he said slowly, “but I can’t help wondering why Harry’s not already married. Being so eligible and all.”

“Ah, well,” Merlin deflected, taking a small bite of scone. He dabbed the corners of his mouth with a handkerchief he pulled from his sleeve. “That’s for Hart to tell you, if he so chooses.”

“What am I telling him?” Harry asked, coming into the room, his finished letter in his hand.

“Nothing,” said Eggsy hastily.

“Why you were free to wed young Unwin here, and not already an old married man, of course,” said Merlin, at the same time.

“It’s quite simple,” Harry explained, idly tapping the letter across his palm. “I simply could not find anyone who wasn’t out to marry me for my money.”

“Aren’t I marrying you for your money?” Eggsy asked, concerned.

“No, of course not, don’t be ridiculous,” said Harry. “If you were marrying me for my money, you wouldn’t dare be late to your appointment with my tailor.”

Eggsy shot a look at the clock on the mantel. It was only ten minutes to three o’clock! There was no way he’d make it to the tailor’s on time. “Shit!” he exclaimed, leaping out of his chair.

“Not to worry, lad,” said Merlin cheerfully. “You might not care too much about Harry’s money, but I can assure you his tailor does.”

“He’s worth every penny,” Harry said with an offended sniff.

“Never said he wasn’t,” Merlin replied, relaxing back into his chair and crossing his legs. “And I’m sure it’ll be worth the expense to see Eggsy properly dressed, for once.”

“You rich folk,” Eggsy said disdainfully as he used his reflection in the glass of the bookcase to smooth down his hair. “So much worrying about what looks _proper_.”

“You’ll be one of us soon enough, Eggsy,” Harry said.

Eggsy turned and grinned at him. “Never,” he promised. “I’d be boring and then what will you do with me?” With that, he dashed from the room.


End file.
